by Jack Probyn
Jake was stumped. He hadn’t thought about it. Well, he had. But not deeply. He knew on a superficial level that he wanted all the nice things – toys, cars, house, pet – but on a deeper, personal level… he hadn’t thought it through.
‘I suppose…’ Jake said. He needed to be honest, not only with himself, but with Liam and the rest of the team if they were to accept him as one of their own. ‘I suppose I want justice. My dad died in a car crash when I was fifteen. He crashed into a tree. Dead instantly. But someone else was to blame. They jumped out in front of him, caused him to swerve. But they were never prosecuted or anything. We were just left to survive without him, a massive hole in all our lives.’ Jake needed a sip and so took one. Everyone around him paid attention. ‘That’s why I want to be out there on the front line. That’s why I want to be able to stop people from hurting other people, like I did with The Crimsons.’
A moment of silence fell over the group as they drank from their glasses. All except one. Garrison.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ he asked quietly, as though speaking any louder would rouse the armed robbers from their invisible hiding places.
‘Heard what?’
‘The Crimsons… Danny and Michael… their trial… it’s all falling through.’
Jake froze; his body turned cold and he became deaf to the ambient sounds of laughter and chatter around the bar. Then he swallowed, his mouth dry. Images of Danny and Michael Cipriano flashed in his mind. Their faces. Mocking him. Laughing at him for all the hard work and effort he’d put into arresting them, only to have it overturned less than twelve months later.
‘You’re – you’re joking, aren’t you? I mean… I…’
‘I thought you’d have heard?’
Jake shook his head.
‘Yeah,’ Garrison continued, ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but they’re getting let out of remand. Think it has something to do with CPS… I heard they’re not offering any evidence on Friday’s court hearing. Wouldn’t be surprised if they somehow managed to bribe a couple of the jurors in advance as well. I’ve heard a lot of bad things about them – both those in Surrey Police and the Cipriano brothers.’
Jake shook his head in disbelief. He was lost for words.
‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news there, mate.’ Garrison paused; beside him, Drew burped and a cloud of yeasty breath floated towards Jake’s face. ‘I know you fought hard to nick ’em and get ’em locked up.’
‘It’s fine,’ Jake said. He finished off his drink and placed it on the table, then checked his watch. It was six thirty. Where had the past hour gone? Paranoid, Jake looked at his phone. There was a message alert from Elizabeth on the home screen. Panicking that it might be something important, he opened the message and read. She just wanted to know when he was coming home. He sent a response telling her he was on his way.
Jake lifted himself up, staggered as the alcohol rushed to his head and leant on the back of the chair for support.
‘You all right, mate?’ Liam asked.
‘Yeah.’ Jake nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m going. The missus is calling. Sorry. I’ll – I’ll see you later. Tomorrow.’
‘Are you OK to drive?’
Jake gave the thumbs up. ‘Never better.’
He said his goodbyes and then wandered to the car. His mind was awash with concern. He couldn’t shake the images of Danny and Michael Cipriano – the men he’d fought hard to capture – and how, soon, they would be free to roam the streets like normal civilised human beings.
As he stepped outside, a rush of cold air slapped him in the face. It was then that he realised he was in no fit state to sit in the driver’s seat, let alone drive, so he hailed a cab. On the journey home, he made a vow.
It was a simple one – one that he wasn’t going to drop until it was completed.
Jake was going to send The Crimsons back to where they’d come from.
CHAPTER 9
MEDICAL ASSISTANCE
An incense candle burned beside him, its orange tip receding further and further down the stick. Wisps of smoke clawed and sank in the air, seemingly at random, as the air around him shifted.
Lester was in his dining room, sitting at the table. In the kitchen behind him, a microwaveable chilli con carne was heating up. The repetitive sound of the plastic container bumping into the machine’s window slowly grated on him.
Lester inhaled, breathing in the sweetly scented air. Camomile. His favourite. He had bought himself a selection once as a treat, and after burning through all of them, he’d decided this daisy-like smell was the best. Now, whenever he went to the shops for supplies and provisions, he only ever bought that strand. After every Communion, he would burn one. It was a part of the ritual he’d created after his first ever experience in The Community. But tonight was different. Since he’d slaughtered Jessica and Steven, he’d burned four, non-stop. It helped soothe him, cleanse him, rid him of what he liked to call ‘The Nasties’.
The microwave pinged, and Lester removed his dinner and threw it onto a plate, oblivious to the searing heat on his fingers, then grabbed a knife and fork and returned to the table. He opened his laptop beside him and opened up TorBrowser. Once the connection to the private server was made – finally linking him with the Dark Web and all its illicit activity – Lester loaded another piece of software called TorSearch. It was riddled with every manner of depraved activity. Terrorism. Human trafficking. Paedophilia. All of which Lester had no intention of becoming involved in. But the Dark Web was host to his second home, the lifestyle he’d adopted after stumbling across it by accident one afternoon: The Community.
But before he could allow himself to delve into the website, he had some tasks he needed to complete. The first: eat. He hadn’t eaten anything since before his meeting with Steven and Jessica, and he was ravenous. He turned his attention to his microwaved meal, scoffed it within a few minutes and then placed the empty plate next to his laptop, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand.
Next on the list was to make a call to S. It had been a long time since he’d spoken to his friend, and he was eager to speak with him again. Lester removed his phone from his pocket and dialled.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Until eventually there was a response.
‘Lester,’ the voice on the other end said. It was weak and raspy.
‘S,’ Lester replied. The sound of S’s voice excited him.
‘I was expecting to have heard from you by now.’
‘Something came up.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve been hiding all day. I couldn’t risk calling you too soon.’
There was a pause.
‘How was it?’
Lester licked his lips as he inhaled deeply. He thought of what had happened less than twenty-four hours ago. Steven. Jessica. Her body. Her head. Her cunt. Her skin. Her blood. Her flesh. It titillated him. His body tingled.
‘Perfect,’ Lester replied. ‘Couldn’t have gone any better.’
‘You have evidence?’
‘Yes. A video of the entire thing.’
‘Did it last long?’ S asked.
‘Like you wouldn’t believe. A few hours. The longest it’s ever been. It was the purest experience of my life.’
That was true. It had been, and since then, he’d been trying to relive it as he masturbated in the shower, conjuring images of Jessica squirming and screaming as he raped her to help him climax. But it had been no use. The experience was far removed from the real thing.
‘What happened?’ S insisted.
Lester smirked as he stared at the computer screen. ‘I killed them. They’re dead.’
Lester paused, expecting a reaction, but there was only silence.
‘I want to know more,’ S eventually said in his softest voice. ‘Before you send the footage.’
‘They were plotting to kill me. They wanted to overtake me on the leader board, but I got to them first. I slit Steven’s throat while he was recording
. Jessica was tied up. She couldn’t do anything other than accept everything I gave to her.’ Lester hesitated as he reminisced; the blood rushed to his groin. ‘She was mine. All mine. It was perfect. Exactly what I had been waiting for. I did everything to her that I could think of. And then I cut her head off. You know, I’ve never had a blowjob from a severed head before – two severed heads, even.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Lester suspected a hint of jealousy in his master’s voice.
‘It’s the truth. It’s all on the footage. I documented every aspect for your enjoyment.’
Lester opened The Community home page and logged in. His password was fifteen characters long and contained a combination of letters, numbers and symbols. It was a password he would never forget.
‘Do you know what this means for your score?’
A smirk grew on Lester’s face. ‘It means I’m untouchable.’
‘Perhaps I will have to create another league for people like you.’
‘There is no one else like me,’ Lester said, pride oozing through him.
‘Of course there are. We just haven’t found them yet.’
‘We?’
‘If all goes to plan, you can help me. But it will have to be a select few. Ten. Twenty. I’m already conscious that The Community is getting too big. We can’t afford for word to spread about this new one.’
‘Would you become a member?’
S chuckled down the phone. ‘No. You know those days are long behind me. I did my time.’
‘I remember. I remember. It would still be good to have you as part of The Community – officially, that is, collecting points. You could impart some tips,’ Lester said.
‘And you’d be happy for me to share that, would you? Considering I’ve taught you everything there is to know?’
‘Hmm. Actually. No. No, fuck that idea.’
Lester scrolled through The Community’s home page. He skimmed the members’ posts and only enlarged a few of the images that caught his eye.
‘How many points do you feel you deserve for Jessica and Steven then?’ S said after a while.
Lester paused before replying. At the top right of the screen was his profile – icon-less and discreet – and beneath that was his score. Lester was currently sitting top of the leader board with fifteen thousand points. Second place had twelve thousand.
‘Jessica alone was worth 1000. You can vouch for that. And as for Steven… well he was just an add-on, so… 250?’
S said nothing. In the background Lester heard the sound of a keyboard clicking. He stared at the screen and within a few seconds the number that appeared underneath his name changed. It adjusted specifically to what they had discussed. An extra 1,250 points.
Lester revelled in the distance that separated him and second place. He was winning – for the first time ever in his life – and he wasn’t going to stop there.
‘What’s next?’ S asked.
‘I’ve got something planned. You’ll just have to wait.’
As Lester was about to hang up, S called his name.
‘Erm… Don’t send me just the usual five minutes,’ S said. ‘I… erm… I want everything. The whole night.’
Hook. Line. Sinker. The apprentice had become the master.
‘As you wish,’ Lester said and rung off. He wandered to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk and returned to the table.
He began browsing through The Community again, searching through profiles, reading the posts and comments more intently now. He did have something planned. Something big. Jessica and Steven weren’t enough. They had hurt him. Betrayed him. Made him feel small. It wasn’t about the points. It was about his ego and his vanity. He needed to feel adored and abhorred both at the same time – that was the only way he could get control. And, more importantly, that was the only way he would be able to relive the experience of Steven and Jessica.
While he’d been sodomising Jessica’s dead body, he’d realised something. He loved Jessica. Loved her. It wasn’t lust; it was love. And now that she was gone, he would never be able to love her again. There was a hole left in his heart for her – a hole that was filled with copious amounts of rage at how easily she had betrayed him.
And he needed to find someone to fill that hole, to dissipate that anger.
Lester moved the mouse to the top of the news feed, typed in the name Jessica and waited for the results to populate. Community members with the same name appeared on the page. At the top was Jessica Arnholt, and for a moment, Lester was tempted to view her profile, download her pictures so he could masturbate over her one last time – and then he realised he had the video. He changed his mind.
He clicked on the second profile and inspected her image. She was pretty. Very pretty, in fact. She had long, flowing brown hair, deep brown eyes and her smile was radiant. Her name was Jessica Mann, and her profile picture was of her in a hospital, smiling vehemently at the camera. The caption beneath her picture read, ‘My favourite thing to dress up in is my uniform. I can be a nurse during the day and at night.’
As soon as he finished reading that, Lester became aroused. Jessica Mann was suitable. She looked very similar to Arnholt – eerily similar – and that was what he wanted. If he was going to relive the experience, it had to be as close to the original as possible.
Lester’s eyes fell on her score on the leader board. Fiftieth out of fifteen thousand. Commendable. But he could make her better. And her last points were from a few nights ago, so she was still fresh and active.
Lester clicked on the message icon beneath her name. Then he typed out a message, hovered his finger over the enter button and waited.
After a brief moment of deliberation, he sent the message.
It read: Hi, Jessica. I’m in need of some urgent medical assistance.
CHAPTER 10
ALINKA’S
Shadows stretched across the street as birds awakened and sang from their perches amidst the branches overhead. A slight chill nipped the air, aching the joints in his fingers and the muscles in his nose. Cars sped past him, picking up some of the spray from the rain that had fallen all day yesterday and the night before.
Lester was perched on the edge of a bench outside Jessica Mann’s house. He’d found her address through a variety of contacts he’d made on the Dark Web, who were always keen to help him out in exchange for some of the footage he had from his previous Communions. He sat leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, with his head down and his hat pulled over his eyes. It had been several hours since he’d messaged her, and he hadn’t heard anything since. He was beginning to worry. What if she’d taken one look at his profile and decided against meeting him? Lester decided that all she needed was a little push, a little incentive. Something that would encourage her to respond, and then if there was still no response, he would have to take matters into his own hands.
Lester was dressed in his smartest outfit. A light blue Hugo Boss shirt, with the top two buttons undone revealing his pasty chest. A thin navy Guess blazer and matching trousers. A pair of Christian Louboutin jet-black shoes that were so clean he was almost certain he could see the reflection of his face in them. And a set of Mont Blanc cufflinks that finished the ensemble. The outfit had cost him in excess of two thousand pounds, and he always made an effort to wear it on special occasions. Funerals. Weddings. Christenings. And, more commonly, when he was meeting another Community member for the first time. His father had always taught him one thing that stuck with him: that first impressions were everything. And if there was one thing Lester loved more than making first impressions count, it was leaving a lasting impression, whether it was via his outfit or his unique personality.
A few minutes of nothing passed, save for a few joggers running past him, synchronising their exasperated breaths with their heavy steps. The sight of them reminded him that he still needed to do his exercise routine for the day; he had been forced to miss it yesterday because he’d spent t
oo much time thinking about Jessica and Steven Arnholt’s still-warm skin under his. The routine consisted of twenty push-ups, twenty pull-ups, twenty bicep curls and then twenty squats. It was a routine he’d started when he was a teenager and it had stuck. And the outcomes hadn’t been too bad either. He was satisfied with his body, his physical presence in the bedroom. And he especially loved the compliments he received from other Community members. The way they massaged his muscles. The way they touched him, arousing every corner of his body. He couldn’t afford to let it slip.
After another ten cars and two joggers rushed by, the door to Jessica Mann’s small semi-detached house finally opened. Lester recognised her instantly from her profile. She was even prettier in real life – taller, slimmer, more striking than her picture suggested. In fact, she looked a lot more like Jessica Arnholt than he’d originally envisaged. And that excited him.
Lester followed her for the next half mile, keeping his distance and separating himself from her on the other side of the street. Her hair swayed left and right in its ponytail as she walked, and the bag on her side bounced against her hip. Lester admired the way her figure moved in tandem with her hair. It was almost too perfect.
As they approached an independent bicycle shop on the street corner, Jessica slowed. Lester matched her pace and held back. He watched her cross the road and enter a coffee shop called Alinka’s. Home of artisan coffee. Whatever that meant.
This was it. His opportunity to acquaint himself with her for the first time. His opportunity to make the best first impression he knew that he was capable of.
Lester leant against a nearby lamp post with his hands resting by his side. His palms were beginning to sweat as he waited. He watched through the building’s vast windows as Jessica ordered her drink.
It was time.
Placing his hands in his trouser pockets, Lester crossed the junction with little heed given to the cars and taxis and buses zooming up and down. As he skipped onto the kerb, he removed his phone and looked down at the screen just as Jessica came out of Alinka’s. She was on the phone too, answering a call. Neither were looking where they were going, and Lester had no intention of stopping.
